


Blissful Imperfection

by HMS_Chill



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Baby, Baby Fic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Sort Of, i don't really know how to tag this?, like there is a kid but he's not born for the first half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMS_Chill/pseuds/HMS_Chill
Summary: Philip's new charity supporting military families is just getting started, and Martha isn't going to let a little thing like being nine months pregnant stop her from supporting her husband.- sort of loosely set afterA Channel of Your Peace, but can be read without it -
Relationships: Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor/Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	Blissful Imperfection

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read _A Channel of Your Peace_ , here's what you need to know:  
> \- Philip is in therapy and also fixing his relationships with his siblings.  
> \- Martha is pregnant with their first kid!  
> \- They're starting a charity to help military vets and families.

Philip sees Martha the moment she comes in, talking with Bea and positively glowing. She’s a vision in florals, an army green blazer on her shoulders and one hand on her bump. Between the jacket and her flats, he’s sure his gran will have something to say, but she looks absolutely stunning. She spares a look around the room as she shakes hands with someone, smiling when they make eye contact, and she sends him a little wink. He smiles at her before turning his attention back to the man he’s actually supposed to be talking to.

It’s not an interesting conversation. At all. But the man owns quite a bit of stock in prosthetics, and he’s worked with the Alternative Limb Project, so his support for their charity would be crucial in helping disabled veterans. Philip forces himself to smile and nod along to whatever the man has to say, trying to pay attention even as his eyes keep drifting across the room to Martha. She laughs at something Bea says, waving security off so that someone can feel her baby bump. The baby’s probably kicking; he’d been active and kept her up last night. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he watches her say something to get her security to take a step back; she’s never been particularly good at playing the role of the aloof princess.

“Sir?” He snaps his attention back to the man in front of him, and he’s met with a smile. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation at a later date.”

“I would appreciate that,” Philip says, blushing a bit. “I can give you my card; it’ll have the number for my office and you’re welcome to call any time.”

“She looks lovely. When’s she due?”

“Any day now. We’ve been dragging hospital bags around with us for weeks,” Philip says, and the man laughs.

“Ah, the early parenting days. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you,” Philip says, and the man gives him a last smile before turning away, leaving Philip free. He moves toward Martha automatically, a boat floating through currents of people toward land. Someone else calls his name long before he gets to her, and he’s pulled into another conversation with people the charity can’t afford for him to offend. He’s trying his best to get out of it politely when a hand fits into his as Martha kisses his cheek. It’s not an interruption, exactly; he can squeeze her hand and keep talking. But the others seem to get the hint, and a moment later, he’s pulling Martha closer as they turn away.

“Hello, love,” he says, guiding her to the edge of the room. She’d finally been asleep when he left for the morning, but that meant that he hasn’t talked to her all day, and he’s missed her.

“Hello. It looks wonderful in here; are you ready for your speech?” He groans a bit, and she laughs. “You’re going to be fantastic. We’re both rooting for you.”

He smiles, looking around a bit to see if anyone’s paying attention to them before leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her bump, and finally her lips. Her arms are around him, her hands finding his hair as he kisses the bump and moving forward as he kisses her, holding his face close even as he pulls back to rest his forehead on hers. She smiles, and he does, too, just enjoying how close they are and letting himself acknowledge how much he loves her. The baby kicks against his hand where it still rests on her belly, and she smiles even wider, her own hand coming to rest on his. There’s probably a photographer somewhere, but as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him again, he realizes he doesn't mind. Let the paparazzi catch him kissing his wife. He’s got more important things to worry about.

She runs her fingers through his hair a bit as they part, frowning suddenly. “Did you use that extra strength gel again? We’ve told you; you’ve got to use something that lets your hair move. The product Henry sent is on the bathroom counter.”

“I know. I should have used it instead. I forget people care so much about my hair.”

“Well, we only want you to look your best.” She fusses a bit more, and he takes time to just look at her, his incredible, wonderful wife. 

“I love you,” he says, and she gives him a curious look. He shrugs. “I hadn’t said it yet today.”

Her face softens at that, and she says, “I love you, too. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve worked for, and I’m so glad to have had a front row seat to everything you’ve done. I’m glad to be here for you today.”

“I’m glad to have you, but you’ll look after yourself? Stay off your feet if you’re uncomfortable; take naps or rest if you need to and make sure you eat enough and everything like that? I know we’ve got speakers lined up all day, but you’ll leave if you need to, won’t you?”

“Yes, darling. I’ll be alright. I’ll have Bea look out for me to make sure; you don't have to worry about a thing. You just present the best possible charity you can, and I’ll be here to cheer you on.” She smiles, leaning into his hand a bit as it comes up to cup her face.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. I picked you, love. Even if you doubt yourself, trust me?”

Martha brushes a thumb across his cheek, and he smiles again, a genuine one as Martha feels some of his worry drain away. She’s never quite sure who she’s meant to be at events like this, but right now, all she has to be is Philip’s wife. That’s her favorite role to play.

“I should go mingle more; care to join me?” Philip asks, offering her his arm, and she takes it with a smile.

“Of course. Lead on, brave prince. Into the sea of small talk.” He laughs a bit, and even as they get into the crowd and other people demand their attention, Martha can’t stop thinking about just how proud of him she is. She’d loved him when they got married, of course, but she’d felt like she lost the man she loved when they were in public. He was so used to being a face of the monarchy, the man of the royal family, and she’d had to watch him slip into that role any time they were anywhere public. Now, though, with plenty of ribbing from his siblings, his personality is starting to peek through in public. She couldn’t be happier for him.

When the time comes for speeches, Martha gives him a last kiss, then joins Bea in the front row. As much as she’ll miss being close to her husband, her feet and back appreciate the break. She wonders briefly if anyone would notice if she took her shoes off, but the knowledge that her swollen feet would almost certainly end up on the internet somewhere is enough to keep them firmly on as she looks over the program they’d been handed. She knows most of it; speakers and the announcement of the board of regents, opened and closed by Philip himself. He’ll be leading it all, their valiant captain urging them to take action and keep helping, guiding them into a world where military members and their families can be better supported.

They’re listening to the second speaker when Martha feels a cramp coming on, and the bump where she’s resting her hand is firmer than it was a moment ago. By this point, she’s no stranger to Braxton Hicks contractions, but she glances at the watch on her wrist just in case they’re real this time.

10:13.

It’s probably nothing; just a practice contraction to get her warmed up. It’s over before long, and she should go back to listening to the soldier talk about what a difference the ability to video call his family made in his deployment. Still, as she turns her attention back to the stage, she keeps a hand on her belly and remembers the time.

It happens again at 10:28.

And at 10:46.

They’re occasional enough that she makes herself stop worrying. Even if they are real, they could last for days at this rate, especially since this baby is her first. A tiny voice reminds her of the way her back hurt all of last night, the way she’d been kept up by what she’d assumed were just bad cramps. She ignores it, at least until they break for lunch. If they’re worse in an hour, she’ll worry about it then.

By lunch, they’re still happening, and either they’re worse or she’s more paranoid. She’s sitting with Philip’s family, at least his mum and Bea, though apparently Oscar Diaz might join them, as he’s in London for a conference on clean energy that starts tomorrow. She’s meant to be at that, baby allowing, so it would be nice to meet him. It takes a bit for him to get to their table, but Catherine is there when she finds it. Aside from her husband, Martha can’t think of a single person she’d rather see. She manages to get Catherine alone somewhere that feels private enough and says, “I’m having contractions, and I think they’re getting stronger. I don’t... I don’t want to worry Philip, especially if it’s too early for it to be a problem. You know he’ll act like it’s big if I say anything. What... what do I do? Now’s good to leave if I have to, but I don’t want to leave if it’s not actually happening soon. You... you’ve been a royal longer than me, and you’ve had babies. What... what should I do?” 

Catherine takes her hand, then pulls her into a hug, and Martha lets herself relax a bit. She hadn’t realized how worried she was. “How bad do they hurt?” Catherine asks.

“Not… they don’t hurt exactly; it’s just… uncomfortable. The blogs and things say that they’ll be uncomfortable for a while, and I… I don’t know if there’s different rules since I married Philip, but I don’t want to go to the hospital yet or anything. And I don’t want Pip to worry. He’s already worried about everything else.” 

“We’ll find you a spot near an exit when we go back. If you need to step out, it can be subtle. And, if something does happen, he’s given Bea a copy of his notes in case he needs to leave,” Catherine says, rubbing her back. “It’ll be okay.”

“He... he really did think of everything, didn’t he?” Martha asks, taken aback by tears in her eyes. 

“He loves his back up plans,” Catherine says with a smile. “He’s been telling us all about what to do if he has to leave suddenly for a month now.” Martha laughs a bit at that as they go back to the table. She has another cramp. 

It’s 12:09. 

There’s another at 12:23. It’s worse than a cramp. She tries not to worry. 

The next one comes at 12:41. 

Then as they’re finding new seats and she’s telling Philip she’s nauseous and might slip out at 12:52. 

She just has to make it until 4:00. Philip has a speech to wrap them up, and then he can take her to a hospital. She’s not leaving without him, not if she has any other choice. He wants to be there, and she’s not sure she can do this without him.

Over the next two hours, the contractions just get worse. Now they are undeniably real contractions, her belly tightening under her hand as pain radiates out from it. She doesn’t feel the need to push yet, but the baby is definitely on his way. 

At 2:58, she has to fight to hold back a groan through a particularly bad one. When it passes, she tells Bea she’ll be right outside the door and steps out, making sure it closes slowly behind her so it doesn’t make noise. She finds herself in a back hallway near the bathrooms, and that seems like as good a place as any to wait. One more hour. If the contractions keep happening every six minutes, then that’s ten more. She can survive that to let Philip give his speech and have his day. There’s a water fountain, so she takes a drink, then goes down the hall a bit in search of a chair. She’s still looking when it happens again, and she has to brace herself against a wall to keep from falling. This time she can’t muffle the groan as she takes a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm as it peaks and slowly starts to fade. 

It’s 3:04. Fifty six minutes. She’s sweating, her feet hurt, and now that she finally lets herself admit it, she’s scared. She doesn’t know what to do, or if trying to wait to go to the hospital will be bad for her baby, or if she’s already done something wrong, or if she can make it through the worst parts of labor if she’s already so scared and tired before it’s even really started. Everything she’s read has said that the next part is more tiring and more painful, and if she’s already this tired, she’s not sure what she’s going to do.

The next contraction comes, and she lets herself slide to the floor of the palace, trusting that she can find a member of staff or security to help her back up if she needs it. This way, she’s able to focus on breathing through the pain, on taking deep breaths and not screaming even as it gets bad. She closes her eyes, puts a hand over her mouth, and waits for it to pass.

It’s 3:11. 

In a last ditch effort to make her miserable, the baby kicks directly into her bladder. She manages to get back to her feet and head toward the bathroom, ready to stifle any sounds in case another contraction hits her closer to the auditorium door. The thought of coming outside to be discreet only to interrupt with a scream isn’t one she wants to dwell on. Still, she makes it to the bathroom alright, though the sight of her own face in the mirror as she leaves the stall is almost scary. She’s sweating and pale as she pulls paper towels, trying to blot some of the sweat on her face in case anyone sees her and worries. It’s 3:16. Forty four minutes.

She’s mostly composed again and just leaving the bathroom when she’s hit with a contraction, and when it peaks, it’s so intense it buckles her knees. She lets herself slide to the floor again rather than trying to stay upright, settling in between the drinking fountain and the bathroom door to focus on breathing and staying quiet and calm until Philip can come for her.

3:17. Forty three minutes. She can do it. 

The pain is just starting to fade as the door opens, and Martha starts trying to push herself to her feet before she recognizes that it’s just Philip and lets herself relax. He finds her quickly and comes to squeeze himself in beside her, his head bonking against the water fountain as he wraps her in a hug and kisses her forehead. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, and she nods. 

“I’ll... I’ll be alright.” 

“I didn’t ask how you will be, I asked how you are,” Philip says, rubbing at the spot in her back that’s been tight for months. Though Martha has rained a million blessings on his therapist, she stacks a curse on there for teaching him to recognize deflection techniques.

“I’ve been better,” she admits. “But I can make it until 4:00. You’ve got your speech, and then you can worry about me.” 

“Bea can do the speech. Half these donors are just here to see a member of the royal family, they couldn’t care less which one. And I always worry about you.” 

She wants to tell him he’s getting sappy, but before she can, another contraction takes over and she barely gets out a “you’re getting” before she has to focus on breathing so she doesn’t scream. He all but pulls her into his lap somehow, petting her hair and promising he loves her until it’s over. 

3:22.

“Maz, love, was that...” 

“A contraction,” she admits, trying to catch her breath. “I... I came out here because they were getting bad. I thought maybe walking would help, or at least distract me. Turns out it’s just tiring.” 

“Have you been timing them? When was your last one?” 

“That was five minutes between.” 

“We’re going to the hospital. The doctor told you to come when there were five to six minutes between, and now it’s five—“

“But your speech; everything you’ve worked on—“

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters more than you.” He’s taken a moment away from getting up to cup her face, and Martha leans into his touch. “I’m... I promised you, and Henry, and Bea and Mum and myself and everyone that I’d be a good father, and that starts now. Bea will give my speech. I practiced with her; she knows it. We’ll get you to the hospital.” 

“Will you... will you try? I’m okay out here, and it’s not for much longer. You worked so hard for this; you—“ 

“Mazzy, I...” he clearly wants to say something, but she watches as he tries to figure out exactly what. Then, slowly, he says, “Everything I’ve done with this charity has happened because of you. Everything I’ve built is because of you. Anything I do alone will be hollow, and trying to do something while you suffer would feel like betraying the spirit of the project. It may be my name on it, and my face for publicity, but you are the heart and soul, and I... I need to look after you first. You’re always telling me I don’t have to be tough around you? Well, it goes both ways. You don’t have to be tough right now. I know you’re scared.” 

“I’m so scared,” Martha says, and he pulls her as close as he can. “I’m... I’m scared I did something wrong. I’m scared I won’t be able to do this. I’m scared—” Another contraction starts, and she buries her face in Philip’s shoulder to muffle a scream. 

3:26. 

Philip’s hold on her shifts a bit, and as she gets her breath back, he says, “I’ve texted Bea. She’s giving the speech and telling them I had to leave on a family emergency.” 

He helps her up, then leads her through the back halls of Buckingham and out a side door as quickly as they can. They’re in the car before the next contraction, speeding toward the hospital. And when that contraction comes, Philip is there to hold her close and promise her she’s strong enough to do it. 

From there it’s a blur of contractions and hospital, of nurses and doctors and trying to answer questions through the pain, but Philip is there. He’s answering questions for her and making sure she’s got everything she needs and more. He’s there to kiss her forehead and hold her hand and promise that it’ll be alright. 

Suddenly she’s pushing, and it hurts worse than anything she’s ever done, but Philip is there to tell her she’s okay. 

It feels like an eternity before she gives a final push, her hand clinging to Philip’s as she screams, and another cry joins hers. 

Edward Arthur Fox Mountchristen Windsor, born at 3:56 PM. 

She can barely believe it as Philip brushes her hair back and tells her he’s proud, helping her sit up a bit while a nurse brings her their baby boy. A nurse rests him in her arms, and Philip helps her shift so the baby can eat if he wants. The whole world narrows to the tiny baby in her arms and the husband beside her, staring at the baby with just as much wonder as he happily guzzles milk, occasionally blinking up at her. After a bit, he lets go and falls asleep, and that’s when Martha can finally tear her eyes off him to look up at Philip, who’s still looking at the baby in awe.

“He’s so small. I mean, I knew he would be small, but...” Philip is sitting now, which means Martha can reach out to cup his face with one hand, making sure to support their baby with her other as the last of the staff filter out of the room. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s just us. You don’t have to be tough,” she tells him, her thumb brushing along his jaw. 

“He’s... he’s beautiful, Mazzy. Beautiful. And I... you’re so amazing. You’ve always been amazing but this... I love you both so much.” 

He’s crying, and Martha brushes away the tears she can reach, then says, “want to hold him?”

Philip nods, so she lets him take the sleeping baby, and Philip holds him close while Martha rearranges herself on the pillows. When she looks back at her boys, the baby has one of Philip’s fingers held tight, and Philip’s murmuring to him. 

“I’m going to look after you, Edward. I’m going to look after you and love you, no matter what. I’m... I’m going to be better than I’ve ever been for you, and if... if anything happens, if I mess up, you have an uncle and an aunt and a grandma who would go to war for you. And that’s just on my side of the family.”

“Pip?” He looks up at her with a hum, and Martha smiles at him. “You’ll be a good dad.” 

“But how... I was pretty rotten to Henry and Bea when they needed me. How do you know I’ll be good for him?”

“Because I’ve seen you grow. These last nine months, you’ve... you’ve done everything you could to help me, and make things easier, and help other people too. And you want to be a good dad, and I think... I think you know more of what that means now.”

“But what if I mess up?”

“I think you will mess up. I think I will, too. I think... I think part of parenting is messing up, but then correcting yourself and doing better the next time.” 

“I... I don’t know how to be a dad. But I’m going to do my best, I promise.”

“And I don’t think I know how to be a mum, but I’m going to do my best, too. Promise.” 

“You’re amazing. You’re going to be incredible.” 

“So are you,” she says softly. There’s a knock at the door, and Philip lets a nurse in to weigh and measure the baby, leaving the two of them alone for a moment. Someone else comes in with clean sheets for the bed, so Philip takes Martha to the bathroom to help her get cleaned up. 

Their PPOs have brought the hospital bag, and it sounds like Edward will be away for a bit, so Martha tugs Philip into the shower with her and rinses that god-awful gel out of his hair before she closes her eyes and rests against him while he shampoos her hair. He started washing her hair for her around the start of the third trimester, when her whole body seemed to hurt by the end of the day, so Philip would do the work for her while she just stood in the water. It’s quickly become one of her favorite things, the gentle intimacy of her husband’s hands in her hair and their bodies pressed together at the end of a long day. No matter how far apart their schedules pulled them, this is a moment of quiet togetherness. If he thinks he’s getting out of it now that she’s had the baby, he’ll have to think again.

“I love you. You’re amazing,” he tells her, and she laughs a bit. 

“Right now I’m just tired.”

“You can be tired and amazing,” he says softly, turning off the water and wrapping her in a towel almost immediately. “You just had a baby; that’s amazing even if it’s tiring. You made a whole person. You’re... you're like a superhero. Super-Maz.” 

That gets another laugh as he fishes her pajamas out of the bag, and they get dressed together. She’s just convinced him to join her in the freshly made bed when a nurse comes back with Edward, Bea and Catherine not far behind. They find Philip, Martha, and Edward curled up in bed, Edward asleep while his parents coo over him. 

It’s only then, when Martha has Catherine and Bea to keep her company, that Philip kisses her forehead and steps out into the hallway to see if there are any queen-sized problems they need to worry about. Instead of his gran, he runs into Oscar Diaz, who looks almost as surprised to see him. 

“Your Highness. I hear congratulations are in order,” Oscar says, smiling. “I was in town and Alex called, so I thought I’d see if there’s anything y’all need for a bit. Alex and Henry are on their way, but I can probably get around a bit easier as a runner if you need anything. Most people here don’t recognize me, so I won’t be stopped.” 

“I... can we... you’re a dad,” Philip says, and Oscar nods slowly. “You’re a good dad.”

“I try my best to be. Are you alright, Philip?”

“Can we find somewhere to sit, and you... can you tell me how to do it? How to be a good dad? I... Henry says you’re a good one, and Alex is friends with you, and I... I want that.” 

“I’ll give you whatever pointers I can,” Oscar says, throwing an arm around Philip’s shoulders and heading to a seating area. Philip’s not sure how long they talk, but as Oscar tells him what to do or avoid, he feels himself relax. And, when Oscar pats his shoulder and tells him he’s going to do well, Philip almost believes him.

When he goes back into Martha’s room, Oscar trailing behind to see if he can get anyone anything, Philip feels like maybe he can do this. He can be a dad. And, as he climbs into bed to hold Martha and she falls asleep against him, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, with enough work and help, he can be a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> I read so many mommy blogs and hospital sites and other resources for pregnant moms for this that I started getting targeted ads for baby supplies, so uh... that's fun. I did my best on research, but I've never had a baby, so take it all with a grain of salt lol.  
> \--  
> As always, I'm [HMS-Chill](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hms-chill) on tumblr for fic stuff, and I'd love to chat either there or here. I've also got a blog where I look at different elements of pop culture with an eye to literary tradition/history, so if you like nerdy analysis of pop culture, check that out [here!](http://www.historyslit.com/) Thanks y'all!


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